


The Anonymity Of Whipped Cream

by patrickp



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrickp/pseuds/patrickp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's too fucking early in the morning for a guy wanting just a cup of whipped cream. Patrick doesn't have the patience to deal with this bullshit today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anonymity Of Whipped Cream

Patrick had gone into work early that morning, having not been able to sleep very much. But he was so not ready for this kind of weird bullshit.

He was leaning on the counter at about 8am, watching the customers and totally not eavesdropping on the conversation nearest to him. (But, Janice, you need to break up with Chad. He’s a fucking dick. Seriously.)

Anyways.

Patrick was trying to get through his shift so he could go home and sleep because he was exhausted, when here comes this morning’s spectacle.

A tan-skinned, short, black-haired boy with tattooed arms, complete with tight as fuck jeans and an Iron Maiden shirt.

Definitely not the type of person Patrick ever expected to see in Starbucks at 8am.

Holding back a snort of laughter, he stood up and prepared his greeting. “Hi, welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you?”

The guy looked up at the menu for a moment, debating, before looking Patrick dead in the eye. “Can I just get a venti cup filled with whipped cream?”

And holy _shit_ , Patrick most definitely wasn’t ready for that. He almost burst out laughing at the bizarre request but held his tongue and took a moment to compose himself, raising an eyebrow.

“A—A venti cup with… just whipped cream?”

“Yeah. Is that a thing you do?”

Patrick opened his mouth then shut it again, not even sure how to respond. “Uh, it’s—we’ve never done it before but I’m sure it could be done.” He grabbed a venti cup and debated what to write on it for a second before setting it down again, deciding he’d do it himself. He then moved onto ringing up the purchase, then frowned.

“Uh—Claire, um, can you come here?”

She walked over, raising an eyebrow. “What seems to be the problem?”

Patrick grabbed her wrist and backed away from the counter, lowering his voice. “This guy wants just a cup of whipped cream. We can do that, right?” His eyes shot to the guy at the counter, who was now staring around the room.

“Uh… yeah. Probably.”

“Okay, that’s what I thought. What do I charge him, though?”

“Just, um… we could charge it like water, I guess, but he’s—he’s not buying anything else, is he?” Patrick shook his head no. “Then—a dollar, I guess.” Claire shrugged and walked away, leaving Patrick on his own to deal with the whipped cream guy.

Patrick returned to the register, plugging in a manual amount—one dollar. “It’ll be a dollar.” He smiled and waited as the guy dug into his pocket, retrieving a crumpled dollar bill. Patrick put it into the drawer and handed the guy the receipt, saying it’d be just a moment on his drink.

Patrick grabbed the cup and walked over to Claire, who was making drinks topped with whipped cream. When she set the can down, Patrick grabbed it and started filling the cup, laughing quietly. “Who the fuck wants an entire cup of whipped cream? Seriously.”

Claire snorted. “Apparently that guy.”

Patrick snapped a lid on and walked over to the delivery counter, sliding it across the smooth surface with a smile. “Enjoy.”

Whipped cream guy grinned back. “Thanks.”

\-----------

The next morning, Patrick was so fucking done. The guy was back.

He got his cup of whipped cream, but wasn’t strictly business. He was fucking _flirting._

And by flirting, I mean that he was using literally the worst cheesy pickup lines Patrick had ever heard.

He had just gotten handed his receipt when he frowned. “Do you have a bandaid? I skinned my knee falling for you.”

Patrick’s eyes went wide.

“Um, no, sorry.” He frowned and went about filling the cup with whipped cream, snapping on the lid and dropping it on the counter.

“Wait!”

Patrick turned around, bracing himself for bullshit.

“Do you have a mirror in your pocket? Because I can see myself in your pants.”

Patrick grinned a little, because hey that one was kinda funny, and oh shit whipped cream guy was grinning again. Shit.

\--------------- 

Patrick was on break, and he had just sat down in the corner with a cup of coffee when whipped cream guy walked in. He was just glad he didn’t have to deal with him.

Whipped cream guy ordered his drink, giving pointers to the guy on the register on how much to charge him, and after he got his drink, he started walking towards Patrick.

Patrick’s eyes went wide because he was _so_ not in the mood for the whipped cream guy today, he wasn’t going to deal with this today. You gotta look inside yourself, and say, what am I willing to put up with today? _Not fucking this._

Except the guy didn’t seem to realize Patrick wasn’t there until he was _at_ the table.  
“Oh. Hi.” He sat down hesitantly. “I, uh—I’m not stalking you, this is where I usually sit.”

Patrick nodded, sipping his coffee.

The guy sipped his whipped cream. “I’m Pete Wentz.” He grinned and extended his hand to Patrick.

Patrick stared at it a second before figuring it’d be rude to not introduce himself. “Patrick Stump.” He smiled back and shook his hand, other hand wrapped around his cup.

Pete smiled and leaned back in his chair with his cup, pulling a phone out of his pocket.

“Uh—if you don’t mind me asking, why do you get just a cup of whipped cream?”

“I really like whipped cream.” Pete shrugged.

Oh, yeah, because that explains it perfectly.

“Well, I should probably get back to work. It was nice meeting you, Pete.” Patrick stood with a strained smile and made his way back to the counter, slurping down his coffee.

Pete stayed there for about twenty minutes before standing up to leave, but instead of walking towards the doors, he walked to the counter with something in his hand.

He dropped it on the counter with a wink and sauntered away, slurping his whipped cream obnoxiously.

Patrick watched him for a moment, totally not staring at his ass, definitely not—before looking down at the thing Pete had dropped. It was a napkin, and in big pointy letters and blue ink, there was a number. And under the number was a message.

_-the whipped cream guy  
call me (;_

After work, Patrick did. And they went out for whipped cream together. (Surprisingly good.)


End file.
